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Great moments in gay panic: My (male) Drafthouse server asks me if I need "anything else?" at the same time that Cynthia asks Evelyn that exact same question. We both chuckle at the coincidence, but I sense a quickening in the air, and I remember that I didn't even watch the Super Bowl this year.

This movie is unbelievable. It unfolds like you're staring at an image of a mirror within a mirror; as you approach the center, what you next see is the same as what you last saw, only slightly altered, slightly disturbed - until eventually the image is completely obscured and you're no longer sure of what you're seeing at all.

It's all in the execution. The story itself is rather simple, but Strickland has positioned a very real and very vivid world of an intimate relationship within an utterly surreal, male-absent landscape of moths, bubbles, butterflies and a sea of reflections. The autumn flavored B-roll is simply gorgeous, I wouldn't change a single thing about the score, and it's even quite funny at times.

I don't want to get into talking about the influences because this is another one of the recent films that's been derivative in the best way, combining just enough wonderfully constructed homage with pure originality to create something immensely unique, enjoyable and re-watchable.

Dreams cannot exist without reality. A grounded sense of time and place must first be cemented before our minds can wander and our desires can be released. However, as the drifting into dreams becomes more frequent, some might forget about the duties and the important relationships waiting back in the realm of physical existence. Skeletons don't just appear out of nowhere. Or do they?

A full-fledged, peerless, and dreamy masterwork. Peter Strickland is a genius, Sidse Babett Knudsen and Chiara D'Anna bring two devastating performances, and I am now oddly aroused by moths. Don't worry, it's normal. I think.